


Little Death

by ifeelflames



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Panic Attack, Pre-Slash, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 17:23:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifeelflames/pseuds/ifeelflames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’ve been gone about 15 minutes when Stiles feels it, it’s like someone’s turned up the volume on his jitters. He begins to tap the steering wheel with his index fingers, and soon his leg is bouncing up and down against the floor too. He wonders how far away the pack is, and holy hell, was that something moving over near that tree?</p>
<p>He grinds his teeth together and lets out an annoyed puff of air, muttering “Stay in the car they said, you’ll be safer in the car they said…” He wonders why the hell he listens to anything any of them say. Ever.  He slouches lower into his seat, eyes alert and roving his surroundings. For a minute he’s actually beginning to think he imagined it. Then he hears a thud on the roof of the jeep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Death

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime after S2. Stiles ends up on the receiving end of supernatural terror once again. Derek does his best to help him deal with it.  
> This fic is unbeta-ed, so apologies for any mistakes.  
> There is a graphic description of a panic attack here, so for those who find it triggering this probably isn't a good fic to read.  
> Despite the title, there is no character death in the fic.

 

 

 

 

 

 

_“I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.” - Frank Herbert_

 

“Are you fucking kidding me, there is a boggart on the loose and you want me to wait in the truck?” Stiles is waving his arms around in an almost hysterical manner, because seriously…He’s the one who put in the long hours of research and now they’re shelving him off just when things are getting exciting.

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose and appears to be attempting to will himself anywhere but here. At Stiles' whining he raises an eyebrow in disbelief. “You did the reading, why the hell would you actually want to be near this thing?”

“ITS.A.BOGGART. A real life freaking boggart dude.”

“I think we’ve established that,” Isaac replies quietly and Scott starts laughing, and damn it if that doesn’t piss Stiles off even further. Scott should be on his side, not laughing at him with his new wolf buddy.

“He was kind of obsessed with Harry Potter as a kid,” Scott informs Isaac.

He doesn’t miss Derek rolling his eyes in his peripheral vision, but chooses to ignore it. “Harry Potter is all kinds of awesome, don’t even pretend it’s not.” he informs them all.

“You did the research, you’ve told us what we need to know on the way over here, and now you’re staying in the car…where it’s safe,” is all Derek offers in response as he opens the passenger door and gets out.

Derek’s voice does not allow room for argument, and despite muttering “you’re not the Alpha of me pal.” Stiles slouches down into his seat. He is so sick of being the puny human.

 

They’ve been gone about 15 minutes when Stiles feels it, it’s like someone’s turned up the volume on his jitters. He begins to tap the steering wheel with his index fingers, and soon his leg is bouncing up and down against the floor too. He wonders how far away the pack is, and _holy hell_ , was that something moving over near that tree?

He grinds his teeth together and lets out an annoyed puff of air, muttering “ _Stay in the car_ they said, _you’ll be safer in the car_ they said…” He wonders why the hell he listens to anything any of them say. Ever.  He slouches lower into his seat, eyes alert and roving his surroundings. For a minute he’s actually beginning to think he imagined it. Then he hears a thud on the roof of the jeep.

“Oh hell no.” Stiles groans, arms flailing around grabbing for anything he can use as a weapon. So far his options are a text book on mythical creatures or a flask. It’s not looking good. Suddenly seeing a boggart is the last thing he actually wants. He grabs the flask, figuring the hot coffee inside it might be good for burning the thing in the face or _something_. 

He can hear it moving, and then an upside down face appears, looking right at him through the passenger window…and fuck it’s ugly, and is that a third row of teeth? _Oh my god_. His knuckles are white he’s gripping the flask so tightly, and then he hears the glass smash and knows the jeep is no longer a remotely safe location. Stumbling frantically he manages to get his door open and slams it back in the creatures face.  Then he begins to run, only he isn’t fast enough and claws are closing round his ankles. The next thing he knows he’s on his back on the ground with all the air knocked out of him. He throws his arms up to protect his face instinctively, flask forgotten, and _ohgodohgodohgod…_

“STILES!” He doesn’t think he’s ever been happier to hear Scott’s voice. Make that Scott’s roar, because he can tell without looking his friend is wolfed out.  He looks around frantically for them, and can see Scott with Derek just behind and Isaac bring up the rear.

The boggart pauses for a fraction of a second to look at the approaching pack and screeches a hideous noise that makes Stiles shudder. “That’s right, you mess with Stiles you mess with them,” he hisses at it. Derek is shouting something, but it’s so snarled he can barely make it out, it sounds something like ‘don’t let it sniff glue’…  
  
It’s only as he feels teeth, _so many teeth,_ tear into the soft freckled flesh of his forearm that his brain processes it was in fact ‘don’t let it bite you’ because that was what the book had said, _damn it to hell_.

Stiles feels weird instantly, he is vaguely aware of the boggart bounding off him and heading for the wolves but everything is growing fuzzy. He’s suddenly overly aware of his pulse and he tries to swallow but his throat is like parchment.

He can feel it building in his ribcage; the swelling and tightening is constricting the flow of air in and out of his chest. It might have been years since he last had one, but he knows he is moments away from a panic attack. It’s ridiculous really, and he hates himself for letting the fear and that overwhelming sense of falling consume him.  After all the weird shit they’ve been through this last year he thought maybe he was desensitized, but this is different, this is beyond his control.

He wraps his arms tightly around himself. _But wait_ , he knows it’s not a real panic attack, he remembers vaguely, why does he know that…that’s right, he read it somewhere whilst researching….its weapon is crippling it’s prey with fear…if only he could remember what IT was…and oh god his head is pounding and his heart is pulsing like his chest is going to explode. Breathing hurts now, his lungs are burning, and all rational thought is forgotten…

And then suddenly, he sees her. She’s just standing there in front of him, her face blank and gaunt and her hospital gown hanging off her small wasted frame. “Mom?” it’s a question, a prayer, and a million other things in just one syllable, but she doesn’t reply she just turns and walks swiftly away from him. He follows her desperately, but when she realises she’s being followed she starts to run, barefoot and fast _. Damnit_ he can’t breathe, but he won’t let her leave him behind _again_ and so he’s running too, stumbling through trees and over damp earth.

He tries, but Stiles is losing her once again, she’s too fast and he’s nothing. He’s human and useless and he can’t keep up, he can never keep up. “Mom please, Mom!” he’s begging, pleading, his voice hysterical. “MOM!”

Eventually his legs falter one time too many, and he just can’t get up again _weak and pathetic_ _little Stiles_ his internal voice sneers at him. He lost sight of his mother some time ago. What will his Dad say when he realises he lost her, that he’s the reason she’s slipped through their grasp yet again? “Mom,” it’s a whisper now, his throat is hoarse and raw but he can’t seem to stop saying it even though he knows it’s over.  He’s laying face down in a pile of wet leaves, trembling from head to toe, his muscles aching and his heart throbbing. He can’t seem to move though, so he just stares at the last spot he saw her and breathes her name like a mantra, like it will make her real. Like it will bring her back.

He doesn’t know how much time passes, seconds, minutes, hours, but suddenly there are hands on his shoulders and a voice in his ear “Stiles, it’s not real, Stiles….you need to come back, focus on my voice”.

The voice is firm, but it has a raw edge to it, familiar but somehow not. God he’s exhausted, and his arm hurts like a bitch.

Derek’s arms are around him now, whether he’s trying to move him or restrain him he’s not sure, but they’re warm and strong and he’s still shaking like a leaf. He feels sick. He doesn’t even know if this is real…and there’s that tightness back in his chest and suddenly there’s no air again and his arms start to flail, clutching at his throat.

“Shit. Stiles, stop. STOP. Just breathe, you’re okay, it’s the poison in your system. Whatever you can see, it’s not real, you have to calm down.” He hears the words, but they sound so far away.

He feels hands on his face now, surprisingly gentle despite the fingertips being rough and calloused, and only when a thumb slides over his cheek does he realise he’s crying.

Derek’s grip is solid as he lifts him from the earth and suddenly it feels as if they’re flying. Stiles knows Derek is just running but the air is hitting his face so fast.  His eyes open slightly but everything is out of focus so he closes them again to try and stop his stomach lurching. The air is clearing his head though and as he goes limp his mind manages to think one last thought _I really hope I’m not going to vomit on Derek Hale…_

When Stiles comes to, he’s disorientated and weak. His eyes try and focus on his surroundings and he realises Derek is looming over him, arguing aggressively with someone. “Why isn’t he awake yet? You said you could fix this, you need to fix this”. Derek’s shoulders are tense, his hands curled into fists.

He feels something cold beneath him and soon realises he’s lying on Deaton’s vet table. He shivers.

Suddenly Derek’s eyes are on him, intense and intimidating and so many things Stiles can’t place. He blinks a couple of times.

Deaton places a hand on his shoulder. “I wouldn’t try to get up just yet Stiles. You gave us quite a scare, but you’re going to be ok. I’ve dressed the wound and given you something to see off the venom & to numb the pain.” He offers a reassuring smile, a soft shoulder squeeze, and with that he leaves the room.

“What…” Stiles begins trying to sit up slightly, but Derek’s hands are on his shoulders forcing him roughly back down.

“Don’t you ever listen? He told you to stay put!” It’s a growl but Stiles can tell Derek’s heart isn’t really in it. Derek looks almost as tired as he feels. There’s an awkward pause before Derek opens his mouth to say something else and then just closes it again, looking frustrated. Finally he settles on “I’ll take you home, you need to sleep. Just let me finish up with Deaton,” and then he’s gone and Stiles is alone.

It’s coming back to him now, and he rolls onto his side, his tired muscles protesting as he curls himself up into a ball. Even now he knows what happened, how it was venom induced, it still lingers; the hallucinations playing again and again in his mind. Not for the first time he wishes there was just some switch to turn it all off, to stop his mind running over and over the things that he didn’t even want to be thinking about. It was a cruel twist of fate to lumber him with a brain like his and not provide an off switch. He’s pretty sure the rest of the world would agree with that statement too.

He doesn’t hear the door open, so he flinches when Derek soundlessly makes to pick him up again, sliding one arm under his legs and one around his back. He glances up and sees Derek’s jaw is set firm, and Stiles knows having to carry his pathetic ass around can’t rank highly on the werewolf’s to do list. “I can walk,” he croaks. “You don’t have to…”

Derek’s eyes are boring into him again, but his voice is surprisingly soft when he speaks. “No, you can’t.  Without Deaton…it was effective enough at bringing down a werewolf, for a human to be on the receiving end…” He sighs then, “I shouldn’t have let you get involved in this, but you’re just so stubborn and I can’t be expected to…” Derek trails off and clears his throat, then his jaw twitches before he adds “I’m sorry it took me so long to find you”.

Stiles doesn’t really know what to say to that. An apologetic Derek isn’t something he’s used to.  His crippling panic has subsided now, but he still feels wrecked. His emotions are spiked and he can feel he’s still trembling slightly, he guesses that would be the shock kicking in. _Oh goody_. “How long did it last?” He questions.

“You were missing for about an hour.” Derek replies.

“Did you kill it?” Stiles whispers, because right now he needs to know it’s not still out there, that it can’t do this to anyone else.

Derek nods grimly. "We killed it, but during the fight it attacked Isaac pretty badly and one of its many teeth caught me whilst Scott and I finished it off; that’s why it took a while to find you. Scott had to look after Isaac and I had to wait for my body to heal and stop the hallucinations.”

Stiles processes all this, “Is Isaac ok?”

Derek nods. “He’s pretty shaken. Scott brought him straight here to be on the safe side, but his body fought the toxin and won fairly quickly anyway, and his wounds will be completely healed within the hour I'd say. For us the effects of the toxin only lasts a few minutes. It’d disorientate a lone wolf long enough to feed on it, but as a pack we easily out numbered it”.

“Derek…” Stiles begins in a small voice, “what did you see?”

Derek swallows. “It doesn’t matter, like I said it only lasted a few minutes,” but Stiles can see the pain in his eyes and he thinks he knows.

“Was it your family?” He looks up questioningly.

Derek looks away, his voice turning gruff, “I said it doesn’t matter.”

Stiles doesn’t know why he can’t seem to stop talking, but he can’t. “I saw my mom” the words spill forth “it was so real, and I…”

“Let’s just get you home,” is all Derek says, but he grips Stiles that little bit harder, pulling him closer as he carries him out of the building.

Stiles drifts in and out of consciousness in the car, he only wakes properly when he finds himself being lifted out and taken into his house. Sleepily he curls his hands into the fabric of Derek’s jacket, and holds on tight as they climb the stairs. He feels embarrassed, but not enough to let go. Neither of them speaks.

Finally, once Derek’s placed him on his bed and thrown a blanket over him, he sits on a chair. “Deaton changed you into dry clothes, you should warm up soon, you should think of something to tell your father though…” Derek runs a hand over his stubbled jaw as his eyes rake over Stiles “you look like hell.”

“Way to kick a guy when he’s down.” Stiles attempts breezy, but he can hear the crack in his voice and knows he’s not kidding anyone.

Derek lets out a loud sigh and runs his hands through his hair. A somewhat awkward silence ensues. “Do you drink coffee or tea?” He asks eventually.

“I think I deserve something a bit stronger than that right now,” Stiles informs him.

“Coffee or tea?” Derek grinds out, getting to his feet.

Stiles feels asking for hot milk will make him sound like a total baby, so he settles on coffee and stares at the ceiling whilst he waits. He feels kind of hollow, like someone’s roughly scooped out his insides and left them raw and empty. He doesn’t want to sound like a baby, but he feels a total mess and even being in his room alone for a few minutes is making his heart start to race again. His fingers clench into his palms, nails digging in as he tries to focus on breathing in and out nice and slow. _The trick is to keep breathing Stiles…_

And suddenly Derek is back, cup in hand and concern etched on his face, and damn his werewolf hearing, Stiles feels pathetic enough as it is.

“Here,” he somewhat shoves the cup at Stiles.  Stiles tries to hide the fact his hands are shaking by digging his elbows into his ribs to brace his arms and keep them steady; it is reasonably effective, and he takes a sip for something to do. His nose crinkles slightly as it hits his taste buds. There is a hidden warmth to it that can only come from alcohol. He side eyes Derek questioningly.

“Irish coffee,” Derek admonishes. “It’s the best you’re going to get, now drink it up,” he sits awkwardly in the edge of the bed before placing a hand on Stile’s shoulder. “It’ll help with the shock,” he adds quietly, and Stiles does as he’s told. He wonders vaguely what his dad would say about the somewhat attractive but emotionally constipated ex convict werewolf sitting on his bed instructing him to drink up his alcohol. He decides he doesn’t want to know.

They sit there in further silence as Stiles drinks, although somehow it doesn’t seem quite so awkward. Stiles knows Derek will be leaving soon though, and with his father working a night shift it’s just going to be him, his brain and a world of terror…which is far from appealing. He wonders where Scott is, if maybe he could come and stay with him tonight. “Scott…” he begins but Derek cuts him off.

“Scott’s fine, but this close to a full moon I thought it best if him and Isaac spend the rest of the night somewhere safe, seeing as their battle lust is up right now. He called to see how you were 5 times whilst we were with Deaton.” Derek rolls his eyes at the thought.

“That’s my boy” Stiles smiles, glad that Scott’s still got his back despite all this crazy shit that’s infiltrated their lives recently. Derek just grunts. “I’m sure he’d be alright coming over…” Stiles continues, but Derek is giving him _that_ look. Stiles has named it his ‘I’m Derek, The Asshat Alpha’ face, though he keeps that name to himself. “He’s my bro, he’s not going to hurt me, he’s way more in control these days” he can feel himself sulking slightly, but _come on_ , he’s had a really shitty day and he wants his best mate.

“It’s not happening Stiles.”

And Stiles knows arguing would be pointless, so he huffs, puts his empty cup down and falls back down onto his bed.

“We all know how annoying you can be on a good day, this close to the full moon it wouldn’t be fair to expose Scott to you. I thought you were all for making sure he never killed anyone.” Derek is smirking, Stiles has his eyes closed, but he can hear it in Derek's voice, can picture it in his mind…all cocky eyes, chiseled jaw and a flash of teeth.

“Was that a joke Derek?” He cracks an eye open, before pulling himself slightly further up his pillows “did you just crack an actual joke?” he drops his jaw in an exaggerated expression of shock, and his eyes turn into big circles. “Oh my god, I think it was.”

Derek’s has his poker face on, but Stiles sees a tiny twitch in his jaw and can tell he seems to be fighting to stop the corner of his lips from turning upwards slightly, and he laughs at the older man. “Who said it was a joke,” Derek replies, straight faced. “You really are that annoying, Scott would be well within his rights, but it’s my job to keep my pack out of trouble.”

“Spiffing job of that by the way,” Stiles remarks gesturing at himself. He means it as a joke but he can see that’s not how Derek receives it, as his eyes darken and his brow furrows. He attempts to dig himself out of this hole pronto, because he doesn’t think Derek will hurt him whilst he’s recuperating, but this is _Derek Hale_ , and he doesn’t fancy risking it. “Not that I’m pack… or your responsibility…I didn’t mean…” he trails off, as Derek’s expression seems to darken even further. “Yep, definitely shutting up now”.

The silence is stony. Stiles swallows, his pulse rising slightly. His tongue darts out to lick his lips nervously but he somehow stops himself from saying anything else for fear of making it any worse.

Derek gets to his feet, pacing the room.  Stiles watches him, and hates himself for wanting to beg the Alpha not to leave. He wishes he’d just shut up. Things had actually been going remarkably well considering this is Derek and him, him and Derek. Alone in his room with Derek Hale, who just made a joke. Only now he’s ruined it. _And oh my god, did his claws just come out? Tell me I didn't survive a boggart attack to be shredded to death by Derek Hale._

“You wanted to know what I saw?” It comes out a low growl, and the anger radiating off Derek makes the hairs on Stiles arms stand on end.

He scrambles completely up the bed tugging his blanket with him like it’s some sort of defense against whatever might be about to happen. He doesn’t know whether that’s a rhetorical question or not and opens his mouth slightly only to end up remaining silent but a little slacked jawed, because Derek is pacing back towards him now and his eyes are wild.

“I…I…” Stiles is not equipped to deal with this right now, every nerve in his body is fried as it is.

“I saw my pack, I saw half of them massacred, I saw half of them turn on me and then I saw you Stiles.”

Derek is all up in his grill, his breath warm on Stiles’ skin and Stiles doesn’t know where to look so he just stares, like a rabbit in headlights.

“I saw you ripped open and bleeding out everywhere, full of a dying man’s accusations of blame, and everything you said was right…” Derek takes a deep shuddering breath, suddenly catching himself. He steps back abruptly and turns his back to Stiles.

“Derek…” it’s barely audible, but he knows the other man will hear it. He wants to say he doesn’t blame Derek for this. Whatever he says, he wants to be a part of all this insanity they frequently deal with because, despite all the fear and pain that comes with it, he’s also gained so much…he feels needed,  a part of something. He can’t seem to say any of that though, so instead he goes with “You’re...you're a good Alpha Derek,” because truthfully he doesn’t really know what the hell to say, because this…Derek Hale actually opening up…is the mother of all curve balls, and he doesn’t have a clue how to handle it.

Derek makes a strange sound then, a sort of bitter laugh. “I’m a fucking terrible Alpha Stiles, just like you’re a terrible liar.”

Right, because you can't lie to a werewolf, and they both know it, so instead he simply says “You’ll get better. You’re already getting better, I mean the fact you saw your pack must mean they’re important to you…but you have to remember that the pack can’t make an Alpha strong if the Alpha won’t let them.” He’s not sure where the hell this new found honestly is the best policy stuff has come from, he can only assume there was more alcohol in that coffee than he first suspected, either that or Deaton gave him a shot of something that’s warped his brain more than usual.  
  
Eventually Derek turns around to face him again, although his expression is a well placed mask of nothing. “When’s your father due back?”

Stiles Glances at the clock and sees  it’s 2am, crap. Will this day never end? “Tomorrow morning sometime, probably around 8am.” Stiles replies, presuming the previous topic of conversation is now officially closed in Derek’s eyes. He wants to say _something_ , but he doesn’t really know what. He can feel his eyes getting heavy and slumps down slightly. He knows Derek will be out of here in minutes, he’s amazed he’s stayed this long in all honesty. Stiles considers asking him to bring him one of the sedatives he still keeps in a draw in the bathroom for when it all gets on top of him and he just needs to _sleep_ , but he’s not sure he wants Derek knowing about that. He’ll get one when he’s gone.

Derek nods. He’s moving towards the door and Stiles knows he’s leaving.

“Stay?”

He can’t actually believe he’s just said that. Worse than that, it practically sounded like he was begging.

Derek raises a tired eyebrow at him.

“I mean, would you mind, just for a bit longer?” _Pitiful Stiles_.

He can see some sort of conflict on Derek’s face before he shakes his head slightly and moves back towards the chair next to the bed.

Stiles rolls his eyes “just sit on the bed Sourwolf.” He’s moved over enough to make room but, as Derek almost cautiously does as he’s told…like the bed might bite him or something...Stiles realises that Derek is significantly larger than Scott, and the whole two on a bed thing is a whole lot more intimate with him. He knows there’s a part of himself that would normally be quite exhilarated about this development, but right now he’s just to fucking tired.

“Just so you know, I am NOT reading you a bed time story.” Derek tells him, deadpan.

Stiles can’t help but laugh, and after everything it feels good. “Spoilsport. Oh that reminds me, first thing in the morning I intend to burn my Harry Potter books. Me and Rowling are officially _done,_ because that bitch lies. I could just about forgive her for giving me unrealistic hopes about werewolves and how they’d be all about bringing me chocolate after traumatic life events and helping me ace patronus class, but this…this boggart travesty is the last straw...and to think I was hoping for a chance to see you dressed in nana Stilinski’s Sunday best a la Snape...” He closes his eyes and nestles into his pillows.

Derek let’s out the sigh of a _very_ put upon man. “I’m going to pretend you never said that, just this once, but only because you’ve already been sufficiently tortured tonight.”

Stiles nods. “Message received captain Alpha.” He yawns and feels his body relaxing into sleep as he shuffles around the bed attempting to comfy, his foot nudging Derek’s leg a couple of times in the process. He usually takes up the whole thing, but right now he’s not complaining about being a little cramped.

Derek is stoic as ever, sat upright and unmoving, but he’s _there_ and Stiles is so grateful.  
  
“It will get better,” Stiles murmurs sleepily, “if you let it. They want to help you.”

Derek looks down at the sleepy boy beside him. “How the hell did I end up with a pack of misfits like you?” he asks out loud.

Stile’s face curves into a small smile then, though he doesn’t open his eyes, “m’pack?”

“Yes, you idiot, you’re pack, so help me for my sins.” Derek reaches over and adjusts the blanket over Stiles slightly his hand hovering over Stile’s briefly, but then he hears a soft snore and goes back to sitting and staring at the wall.

Stiles sleeps deeply for a couple of hours before the nightmare starts and he’s back in the woods again, only this time warm arms find him much sooner and the fear ebbs away into nothing.

 

* * * * *

 

The next thing he knows he’s looking up at his dad who’s asking him why he isn’t ready for school. After a momentary panic of _oh my god is the werewolf still in my room_ he realises obviously not, and mumbles something about having had stomach flu all last night. His dad takes one look at the circles under his eyes and the slight pallor of his face and doesn’t question it, he just gives him a brief kiss on the forehead before heading off to get some sleep and telling Stiles to do the same and to call him if he needs him.

Stiles wonders when exactly Derek left. He reaches a hand over to the other side of the bed and finds it’s still warm, which means he must have stayed there all night. A warm feeling settles itself in Stile’s chest and the ghost of a smile that’s on his lips turns into a full on stupid grin when he sees what’s lying on the pillow next to him. It’s a slightly worse for wear looking chocolate bar with a post it stuck to it that simply reads ‘don’t get used to it’. Still grinning he closes his eyes and drifts back off to sleep.


End file.
